


Hot off the Grill

by melagan



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-09-13
Updated: 2009-09-13
Packaged: 2017-10-03 08:20:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melagan/pseuds/melagan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The McKays and the Sheppards have had a  little friendly rivalry for years. And then it gets hot in the kitchen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hot off the Grill

**Author's Note:**

> Beta: The always gracious neevebrody.

McKay's Barcelona Bar and Grill sat just across the road from Sheppard's Stew and Brew. The town was just large enough to support both bars and just small enough that everyone got in on the rivalry and some good natured wagering.

Back in the day the founding fathers of each respective business had a nice peaceable competition going; but make no mistake, it was a competition. Of course, back then the most cutthroat it ever became was when Terence Sheppard passed out free cigars to anyone who brought in new customers. Francis McKay, between sputtering about hooligan shenanigans, countered this ploy with a new fangled ice cream machine. One he'd improved on significantly - and began offering ice cream floats for an afternoon delight. Unfortunately, according to Francis, this resulted in a rash number of neighborhood children clamoring around constantly, and didn't they have anything better to do? Francis ended up putting the shiny wood and brass contraption out back to spare his nerves. He didn't entirely stop using it though. Gossip reported that most evenings when both the Brew and the Barcelona Grill closed for the night, McKay and Sheppard could be seen through the windows of the Barcelona relaxing over an ice cream sundae and a smoke.

The friendly rivalry continued through the passing years. Naturally menus got shifted around with the tide of demand. New fixtures and renovations came and went, keeping up with the changing face of the community and through it all, the Stew and Brew stayed open, passed down to one relative or another. John Sheppard ran it now and had for a couple of years after taking it over from his brother.

The Barcelona held a similar fate of being passed down through the hands of family. John had had the privilege of tangling with old lady Jean Ann McKay just once. Reported to be just as feisty as the original owner, she'd tried to get approval for a 'Topless' bar in true McKay competitive spirit. Lucky for the Stew and Brew, that plan hadn't gone over to well with the locals. John chuckled to himself just thinking about it. Jean Ann sure had fired up the Sunday sermons for awhile. Now she was finally retiring and the word was out that a great-nephew was coming all the way from Canada to run the place.

Canada. John tried to be prosaic about it, but weren't Canadians too nice and polite for a little friendly rivalry? It looked like the Brew/Barcelona legacy was finally going to come to an end. Damn. John had been looking forward to stretching his skills in some creative competitions, preferably the kind without the risk of unrestrained boobs bouncing around.   
John poured himself a pint of his best ale and lifted it in a sole and sincere toast to Jean Ann. May her retirement be satisfying and permanent.

John rubbed at his bristled chin with one hand. Maybe he should shave and change. The newest McKay would be arriving today and it wouldn't hurt to clean up a little. Spiffy up, as gramps called it.

Of late, John had been reading the old ledgers left by his great grandfather. Most of it was devoted to price and demand but old Terence had left inky comments in the margins that revealed a lot about the man and his ongoing war with Francis McKay. They'd been damn good friends behind the all the ruckus, lending a hand or money if needed.

The Barcelona had a fire in its second year and Terence had brought over supplies to replace the losses, taking them out of the Brew's own stock. During the day he'd run the Stew and Brew and then helped Francis. They'd worked well into the night for weeks until the bar and grill was up and running again.

Later on the Stew and Brew had hit some rough days. John's great grandmother had taken ill and Francis McKay had taken over running both establishments so that Terence could stay home and take care of his wife. Naturally, when he was able to come back to work, Francis never did let Terence forget that he ran both places together and at a profit. John grinned. Gramps had underlined that entry three times.

It was after John's great grandmother died the journal entries became fewer and farther apart and a lot more interesting. Francis had never married, but when Agatha Sheppard passed away he'd been there for Terence. He stood shoulder to shoulder with his best friend at the funeral keeping a steadying hand at his back. He'd taken care of all the arrangements, made sure that Terence's family was provided for and sent the oldest boy to business school. When the girls were old enough to leave home, Francis asked Terence to come live with him and he'd done so. That's where the entries stopped. It was almost like his great grandfather felt like he didn't need to say anything more.

~~*~~

Two weeks later and John knew he'd never, ever, underestimate Rodney McKay again. At their first meeting McKay had looked him over with sharp blue eyes and a 'prove it to me' slant to his mouth making John feel about ten years old. He'd nay-sayed John's offer of help, got the old Barcelona up and running for new business in record time, and now the bastard was stealing his customers.

The final insult had come when he'd offered to buy John a guitar so he could, 'Stand on the street corner and sing up business because, oh yes, he was going to _need_ to.'

Correction, the final insult had come when John had opened the surprise fed-ex addressed to him--with a shiny, new Gibson acoustic inside. Fuck. John had priced them and this one had to hit five or six thousand. Not quite top of the line but a sweet beauty just the same. It wasn't even close to being in John's budget and damn it… John ran a finger over the strings. The twang was rich and mellow and… fuck all, how had McKay even afforded… Oh hell. John clenched a fist. Now this was war.

McKay was about to find out that John could play this game. It would take some work and planning to pull off but it would be worth it. First thing in the morning John had a few phone calls to make, the first one to his brother. It was time to pull the Sheppard battlements together. Dave would help him and if not, well, John could always threaten to give Jean Ann his phone number. Meanwhile, maybe it wouldn't hurt just to try out the guitar, see what he could remember of the chords he'd learned a long time ago. John picked it up and cradled it next to his body, getting a feel for it. His fingers only shook a little. It was an old dream, something he should have laid to rest back in high school. Could McKay have possibly known John had been trying to save money for one of these? Naw. John shook his head and had a quiet laugh at himself. Impossible.

~~*~~

The grill was hot, the ale was cold. Freight was taken care of and the customers were gone for the night. It had been a very good night. John grinned. By now word would've gotten out that John's burgers and stew were giving the Barcelona's cuisine a run for its money. All he had to do now was wait for McKay to show up, and it was a guarantee he would. In about two minutes if John didn't miss his guess.

"You!" The word was out even before the door was all the way open.

John cocked his head with a sideways glance, added a smirk for good measure and dropped the meat onto the grill. The sizzle hit the air like music.

"Well, now Rodney, what a nice surprise. Glad you could make it over."

"What did you do? A third of my tables were empty tonight and that's never happened. Did you pay someone off?"

"Nope. It's just good cooking, natural talent, and some excellent microbrew. Here, try this." John put a cold pint down in front of Rodney. The beads of sweat ran down the sides of the chilled glass and John knew it would look damn tempting to a man that had just been running around a hot kitchen. "Let me ask you something McKay. What's up with the name of your place? The McKay Barcelona Bar and Grill. Not exactly what you'd call common."

Rodney waved a hand in the air. The other one was clasped tight around the mug as he took a long drink. "God, that's good. Oh, the name? I don't really know. There was a family rumor of some life saving Spaniard or something similar. I suppose it involved running with the bulls or something equally foolish and dangerous. Gratitude, and…" Rodney continued with another vague hand wave, "…no children to name after him. We have to call it that you know. The old geezer made it a stipulation in his will. What is that smell? It smells amazing."

John crossed his arms over his chest and grinned. "That's your supper. There's more ale with your name on it too. All I want in return is to know how you got all my customers to your grill in the first place."

"That's all?"

John stepped closer and lowered his voice. "Maybe. Maybe not. One way to find out." He watched as Rodney's eyes got rounder and bluer and John slapped down thoughts of what else he could do to get that kind of reaction out of McKay.

"Food first? I think this ale is going to my head. Has your hair always done that?"

John watched as Rodney's eyes tracked down the long line of his body, his eyes stopping just at John's belt buckle. Something about the guileless way Rodney checked him out made him feel guilty. John had deliberately left the top three buttons undone on his shirt. The soft, white cotton clung across his chest and shoulders and he knew it brought out the green in his eyes. He'd also put on the tightest pair of jeans he owned. John couldn't even remember the last time he'd this much effort into a non-date. It was flattering to know he still 'had it' even if 'it' was rusty from disuse. Rodney's honest and open reaction made John feel like a cheap tease, but this was war, damn it, and John wasn't backing away from it now.

~~*~~

Rodney pushed his chair away from the table with a satisfied groan. "That was delicious. I get how you where able to lure my customers away now. I've never tasted a steak like that before."

Remnants of their meal lay scattered over the tablecloth John had put down for the occasion. He was feeling full and proud of himself. Dave had really come through sending the best and most tender cuts from his herd, and gramps must have been watching over John's shoulder the way the marinade had come together like perfection.   
On top of that, McKay had been surprisingly good company. Full of tales about Francis and the Barcelona and not at all shy about appreciating the meal John put down in front of him. He'd made John shift in his seat more than once when he starting licking the juice off his fingers.

"It's a family secret. Besides, first things first, you've eaten and now it's your turn to tell me how you lured my customers away in the first place."

"Oh all right but I'm not convinced I actually owe you an explanation. It was, as you put it, good cooking, natural talent and in my case, possibly genius. If you really want to know, I suggest you come to my place tomorrow night."

"McKay!"

Rodney waved a hand in the air as if pointing out some nonexistent menu. "My place, after closing. Bring the steaks. They'll go perfectly with what I have in mind. Did I mention that I have an excellent selection of Spanish wine? Just one of the perks that came with restaurant."

With that, he was out the door and John just sat there with his mouth open, unsure if he'd been issued a summons or invited on a date.

~~*~~

John peeked around the open door of the Barcelona before going in. Rodney was out of sight, doing something kitcheny no doubt. It was obvious which table they'd be eating at. It was the only one with a tablecloth, and pristine dinnerware that reflected the candlelight. John went inside with a grin. Candles. Definitely a date.

"Oh good you're here. Make yourself at home, and by that I mean you can start cooking the steaks. Everything else is prepped and you, my friend, are about to experience a taste sensation by yours truly."

John's mind immediately went to other things he'd like to taste. It didn't help that Rodney stood there smiling at him, shirt sleeves rolled up, with his hands on his hips emphasizing the breadth of his shoulders. Rodney had the kind of shoulders John could climb. There was strength in his hands and forearms, the kind that could spread John's thighs and hold him wide open. Heat pooled in John's gut. Of course, he hadn't helped himself any the way he'd memorized the curve of Rodney's ass as Rodney had walked away last night. Christ, he was in so much trouble.

~~*~~

The steaks were cooked and served, and John sat waiting, toying with his wine glass. Then Rodney came out of the kitchen and put a two pound onion blossom down in front of him. It was one of the most beautiful things John had ever seen.

Now, stuffed full, John stretched and leaned back in his chair. Rodney's surprise really had been culinary genius and if they kept this up he was going to have to go back to jogging every day just to stay in shape.

"I'm a little hazy on who owes whom so why don't you start," John suggested.

"No, I think it's you that owes me. I've answered your question by giving you a taste of best fried onion blossom you will ever experience. It's been known to make hardened hit-men weep, at least according to Aunt Jean Ann. Instead, I think you should tell me where you got the beef for those steaks."

"Not beef. Beefalo."

"You're kidding me."

"Nope. It's leaner and healthier than beef. When Dave left the Brew, he went into ranching. You can guess what kind of herd he has, as you've been eating it." John couldn't help grinning at Rodney's reaction, and at the same time he wanted to kiss the surprise off his face. "Terence Sheppard handed down a recipe that he perfected to tenderize buffalo meat. Works on this stuff like a charm."

"That's, that's actually kind of brilliant." Rodney said, as he reached over and filled both their wine glasses.

"The people in town seem to like it. Never been busier," John drawled back. He was wondering if Rodney was trying to get him tipsy for nefarious purposes. God, he hoped so. Tired of caution, John deliberately brushed a leg up against Rodney's calf. Rodney's eyes widened in reaction but he didn't pull away.

"So when are you going to tell me about the guitar? That was a hellofa…" John stopped. What did he call it? A gift? An insult?

"I, um." Rodney's skin flushed and he ducked his head, glancing up at John through his eyelashes. "I wanted to get your attention."

"A few thousand dollars worth of attention?"

"It seemed like a good idea at the time. Look you can pay me back in favors if it makes you feel better. Not that I want you to owe me…" Rodney's voice trailed off as John leaned closer.

"Are you suggesting favors of the sexual persuasion?"

"No! I meant food. Dinners. Like this one. Because paying me back in sex would be…ah wrong?"

"You don't sound very sure of that." The words came out huskier than he intended. Mouth dry, John moved to stand in front of Rodney. He'd wanted to get his hands on him all night and he wasn't letting this chance go by. He reached out and laid a hand on Rodney's cheek, stroking gently with his thumb. It felt just as good as he thought it would.

Rodney stood and tentatively put his arms around John's waist. "I'm not very good at people stuff. I wasn't sure if the guitar was too much, but you have to admit I was right. It did get your attention."

"S'right. We can talk about it later."

The first kiss was slow, a careful exploration of want and desire. That was the last slow thing to happen. Somehow, John ended up backside down on the Barcelona's long wooden bar. His unbuttoned shirt was pushed down to his elbows and his pants were half way down his thighs. He was effectively tied in place by his own clothing. Rodney had one hand between John's legs, cupping his balls in a warm, solid palm and Jesus, maybe not the last slow thing after all.

Rodney's mouth sent hot, wet, delicious pleasure up the length of John's cock as he used his tongue to map every inch in excruciating, slow, torment. John groaned. He couldn't even get his arms free so that he could reach out and touch. The most he could manage was to grip the edge of the bar and hang on. By the time Rodney lifted his head, John's cock was hard, flushed and trying to follow Rodney's mouth like a magnet points north.

"God, look at you. I've wanted you here, like this, since the first day I saw you." It was almost reverent the way Rodney breathed the words against John's skin. Words that turned into kisses and kisses that put the lie to any thought that this was a casual thing.

John was dizzy with the effort of not wanting to come and wanting to come as soon as possible. Rodney finally put him out of his misery by going down on him with the same thoroughness that he'd spent teasing him. Feeling Rodney's throat work against his cock broke the last of his resistance and John came hard with Rodney's firm hand on him, fingers curled over his hipbone, holding him steady.

Wiping his mouth, Rodney grinned at John. "So, dinner at your place tomorrow? I think you still owe me."

John let his head thunk down on the bar.

~~~*~~~


End file.
